You believe that, with such dispositions, he cannot be and ought not to be happy. You regard him as a moral monster. Why is this? He has injured no man. His ingratitude has not affected the happiness of his benefactor; perhaps it has not been known to him. Why do you abhor him? Because he is a sinner, because he has transgressed one of the fundamental laws of virtue, and proved himself a demon in human form.

Go with me one step farther. Seduced by selfish passions, you have yourselves been unkind to those who deserved your compassion, or unjust to those who have reposed confidence in you, or you have in the indulgence of appetite violated a known duty, or, in opposition to the convictions of conscience, you have disregarded your religious obligations. You do not feel happy in the presence of those to whom you have been ungrateful, or of those whom you have defrauded. Painful emotions agitate you as often as you think of them, and you perhaps endeavor to quiet these emotions by efforts still farther to injure those, whom you ought to respect and love. Why this state of feeling? Why uneasiness in the presence of a good man, to whom you have been unjust or ungrateful? He does not upbraid you. He does not menace you. He looks upon you with calmness and compassion. It is from within, that the suffering arises; and that expression of calm and conscious uprightness, which you witness, is misery to you, because it excites the sensibilities of an abused soul. He, whom you have wronged, may forgive you; but you can never forgive yourself for having done the wrong. The case is the same with the violation or neglect of religious duties. Self-respect is gone, whenever such violations become habitual. A present God reminds you of guilt, and you suffer the miseries of guilt. These sufferings, it is true, may be allayed by the tendency of worldly avocations to blunt the sensibility of conscience. But let the turmoil of worldly occupation be suspended by some

deep affliction, which brings God nigh to the soul. O then, what anguish is felt! Who, as he has stood by the dying bed of some dear object of affection, has not heard from friends, who surrounded that bed, confessions of personal guilt, which seemed to bring present at that awful hour the sins of a whole life? Who has not heard from the lips of the dying sinner himself, bemoanings which were full of terror; but which were only the workings of moral sensibilities, which had been often perceived before, and as often resisted? What do these things teach you, my friends, if they do not give you instruction relative to the moral constitution of your souls, and illustrate the necessity of religion to develope and guide your moral natures? What do they prove, if they do not prove that the wages of sin is death; that to be spiritually minded is life and peace; and that the only hope for the sinner's happiness is laid in sincere repentance?

With regard to the appropriate duties of piety, it would seem from the habits of most men, that they are considered as altogether artificial, as having no foundation in human nature or human necessities. This opinion must arise in a great degree from self-ignorance. The careful inspection of our own emotions will correct this melancholy error. The external world is not more intimately connected with the life of the body, than God is with that of the soul. A belief in God is almost a necessary belief. Atheism does violence to human nature. There is not an individual here, who has never prayed. I believe this to be true, though you may be startled at the assertion. There are, I fear, many, who have no established habits of devotion; yet I doubt whether there is one who has never prayed. Place a man in imminent danger, let it be apparent that no human efforts can save him; and he instinctively calls upon God. The most irreligious and profane man does this. Why is it? Because a divine helper is one of the original wants of the human soul. In every season of intense and honest

of

feeling, it acknowledges this want. O that men would feel and acknowledge it at all times! Then the duties of religion would be welcome and cheerful duties; and the privilege prayer would be regarded as a most precious privilege. I have offered you, my friends, these few imperfect hints, with the hope that they might give you some glimpses of the capacities and wants of your moral natures. Persuaded I am that, if you thoroughly know yourselves, you will not slight a divine religion. All its teachings are adapted to your wants, and designed to promote your happiness. Have you neglected them? Let your own emotions teach you the guilt of such neglect. O what will be your situation, if all the emotions of your souls at the dying hour be such as to remind you only of guilt, if all the habits of your lives be such as to prove to you, that you have only a fearful looking for of impending wrath!

43

SERMON XXXIV.

[Preached on the Annual Fast, in 1830.]

THE SIGNS OF THE TIMES.

MATTHEW XVI. 3.

CAN YE NOT DISCERN THE SIGNS OF THE TIMES?

THE recurrence of this annual season, appointed in imitation of our venerated forefathers, for recalling to mind our manifold transgressions, and for humbling ourselves in the presence of Almighty God, may afford an opportunity for dwelling on some topics not usually introduced in the instructions of the Sabbath. Every age has its own peculiar features. They may indeed bear a near resemblance to those of other times, as there is nothing entirely new under the sun; yet they are modified by peculiar circumstances. The moral dangers of life, as well as its advantages, are thus modified; and it is no unimportant part of practical wisdom to form distinct views of these dangers and advantages. It will enable us better to guard our virtue, to sustain the shocks to which it may be exposed, and to build our hopes on a foundation which cannot be moved. It will teach us what sins are to be lamented, and what virtues particularly require to be guarded and cherished.

In the present discussion, I shall not enter into our civil,

literary or political prospects. I shall confine myself to what is infinitely more important, to the moral and religious aspects of the community. I shall take a very limited view, passing over what is bright and encouraging, and referring only to what is fearful and alarming. In this way I hope to lead to a train of reflections, which may produce salutary practical results; at least to show, that we have much cause to humble ourselves before Almighty God.

I desire, before entering upon the principal subject of this discourse, to make a few remarks upon the religious character of the age immediately preceding that in which our lot is cast. The latter part of the eighteenth century was a period rendered memorable for the activity and success of the advocates of infidelity. While its principles were covertly propagated, and while those who maintained them had no organized system of action, their success was great. There was much in their opinions and modes of discussion to flatter man's pride, and especially his love of liberty. At the same time these opinions had not become sufficiently prevalent to exhibit their true practical tendency. Even the characters of their advocates were not formed solely by their influence, but in part by education, by the opinions of those about them, and by the general habits of society. There was for a long time no one extensive community, in which the principles of infidelity were fairly developed in their true influence upon the character of man, his social relations and his happiness. Such a community however was gradually ripening by means of the grossest ecclesiastical and civil abuses. The true character of infidelity was at last shown in the long continued miseries of that devoted nation, whose civil rulers, in a solemn act of legislation, voted God out of existence. A volcano seemed to have burst. The Christian world awoke from its torpor, and roused its energies. to stay the desolating torrent, which in all directions was